


The Dream Weaver

by Effenay



Series: Effenay's collection of original short stories [2]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Author Is Sleep Deprived, Dreams, Metaphors, Philosophical Discussions, Sleep, absurdity, for insomniac readers, so i am writing about dreams
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-28
Updated: 2020-06-28
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:13:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 613
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24964297
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Effenay/pseuds/Effenay
Summary: A girl visits the weaver of dreams.
Relationships: Dream weaver/nameless girl
Series: Effenay's collection of original short stories [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1806841





	The Dream Weaver

_I’m dreaming._

Fingers touched the velvet skin; not wanting to break or damage its delicate surface.

The dream weaver glanced over her, spindling her a dreaming cloak over his warping loom.

“Good evening,” he greeted. His elven ears and his fairy eyes were embellished with his charming smile.

“Good evening,” she replied sweetly, as his presence felt akin to a long-lost friend or lover.

“The stars are out tonight, so I had plucked a few and embroidered it into the loom,” said the weaver. “What dream do you wish to wear? To dance in a starlit dress? To run in sun-woven shoes? To fly with a cloud-stuffed coat? Or to dive in an ocean’s suit?”

“Why do you weave, mister weaver?” she asked. “Why do you weave for me, and me alone?”

“My dear, I am but a humble creature who looms,” he answered kindly. “I take what threads are left over in your day, and weave them together at night. But as your days grew longer; the threads grew shorter. And before I knew it, you arrive here at the twilight between.”

She hovered over his shoulder and watched him slide a long thread across the warp. The weaver then pushes its thread down before he starts threading the loom again.

“Admirable work,” she mused. “Such patience like that is rare to see.”

“My dear, if I weave too quick, the loom will break. And all the threads held together will unravel,” he answered. “Patience is key, but do not strain for too long. A dream will break if you weave it too impulsively. Either that, or the fabric with carry knots and holes and with become unwearable.”

As he continued to weave, the cloth began to take shape. Patterns resemble an infant in birth, to a child in school. The threads were uneven, knotted and full of mistakes; but dyed in brilliant bright colours that gave her euphoric thoughts.

“Happy is a child that lives in bliss,” the weaver began. “But a child without guidance will lead to many amiss. To spoil; to mock; to strike; to hate. To reward them for evil and punish them for good; what happiness is to a child, they do not know.”

“But a child can be wiser than a parent,” the girl retorted. “What do parents know of how their children feels?”

“A child is an empty loom,” he replied softly. “A loom doesn’t weave for itself, for it has no sense of what sort of cloth it would create. A parent was a child once, too. But a child is not a parent yet. Weave a child too tightly, their cloth becomes stiff and rigid. Weave a child too loosely, the cloth will easily warp, fray and loosen. What a child needs are a firm hand that weaves them gently.”

She looked at the back of the weaver’s head; his hair threaded with wispy-white threads that were tied back with a green ribbon. Even by the frame of his back was handsome.

“My dear, it is time to go back,” he said, leaning back to rest his soft mane on her chest. “A new day awaits and I have run out of threads.”

“Will I see you again, mister weaver?” she asked, fingers now played with his white tresses.

“When your day ends and you dream no dreams, I will be here to weave you a new one.”

She smiled at his answer as she leaned over to kiss his forehead before she turned her heel around and walked over towards the door.

The Dream Weaver watches as her small back disappears, a gentle smile graced his lips.

“Until next time,” he said.

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this to unwind a little of my chaotic thoughts, so whatever I wrote here isn't always something I believe in.


End file.
